


Harry Potter and the Mystery of Malfoy's Hair

by allostatic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Punch Ladles, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 19:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11950770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allostatic/pseuds/allostatic
Summary: Malfoy was off Harry's grid for five years. Now he's absolutely everywhere. His hair is too shiny, he's dressed too nicely, and apparently he's trying to kill Harry with kindness. It's driving Harry bonkers.





	Harry Potter and the Mystery of Malfoy's Hair

“What’s _he_ doing here?”

Harry glared across the room to where Draco Malfoy was standing, making small talk with some important wizard beneath a floating banner that shimmered with the words _Orphans Matter: Show You Care, Today._ The slogan was tacky and the words shone garishly bright with whatever charm had been used on them, but it was Malfoy’s hair that was hurting Harry’s eyes.

“Who?” said Ron, far too loudly.

“Shh!” Harry gave him a pointed nudge. If Ron kept that up, Malfoy would hear him and then promptly ruin the fundraiser with a classic display of wankery. Presumably just because Harry was there.

“ _Who?_ ” Ron whispered.

Much better, but still not terribly helpful.

Harry was too busy scowling at Malfoy to look at Ron, but he imagined he was still struggling with the punch ladle—it had a mind of its own and kept attempting to bite the guests. Harry wished very hard that he could be struggling with the punch ladle instead, but his gaze was transfixed. Malfoy was laughing in that horribly fake way that high society snobs always laughed at these sorts of functions, and it made his hair shake. The light from the banner bounced off his pale hair and burned Harry’s eyes.

Had Malfoy’s hair always been that bright? It was indecent.

“Him,” Harry said finally, grabbing Ron’s arm to pull his focus from the punch ladle.

“Oh.” Ron appeared in Harry’s peripheral vision and handed him a glass of punch. Ron was a very, very good friend, and his ways with punch ladles were unmatched. Harry went in on the drink immediately, never taking his eyes off Malfoy.

“What’s he _doing_ here?” Harry repeated.

“I dunno,” said Ron. His arm moved upwards and Harry assumed he was following suit, feeling the same need to be inebriated in Malfoy’s presence. “Blimey, how long’s it been since we’ve seen Malfoy?”

Harry shut his eyes at the name and shuddered. If Ron could see him too, then he was really there and Harry wasn’t just having some sort of mental breakdown. It was a shame, really. A mental breakdown would have been far nicer than actually seeing Malfoy, and Harry could rather use a holiday right now. Maybe Ron was part of the breakdown too, a holiday would do them both some good.

When he opened his eyes again Malfoy’s head was no longer shaking with laughter, but his hair was still painfully bright.

“Five years,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

Ron let out a low whistle. “Yep, that’d be it. I could’ve used longer, personally.”

“Mmm,” mumbled Harry, taking another long drink.

Malfoy laughed again, in that same stuffy manner. His hair glistened.

“Was his hair always that white?” Harry wondered absently.

Surely it wasn’t always that white. It was unnatural, no one had hair that blonde as an adult. The only people that blonde were small children, and even if Malfoy acted like a small child he certainly didn’t look like one. He was tall, lean, and slightly muscular—or, Harry just imagined he was muscular It was hard to tell when one was wearing robes.

Yes, Malfoy’s robes, they must have been the problem. They were a deep blue colour, like the sky just after twilight faded but night hadn’t quite yet begun. Clearly the dark blue of the robes was too stark and it made Malfoy’s hair shine like the moon in comparison. What was he doing, wearing blue robes? It was unheard of. Malfoy was only allowed to wear green things, blue was a pleasant colour and it was reserved for pleasant people. Malfoy had no right to be wearing such a pleasant blue.

“Yeah, it was,” said Ron. “Blonde git. It was never that pompous, though. What kind of haircut is that, anyway?”

Harry knew what Ron meant. Malfoy’s hair was longer on top now. It was still parted to the side but the cut was more stylish, and it sat as perfect and effortless as hair could do while still appearing soft and the tiniest bit fluffy. It was outrageous, hair shouldn’t sit that way without product and product wouldn’t let it look soft and fluffy. He was obviously using some sort of dark, pureblood magic on it. 

“A stupid one,” said Harry.

Ron snorted and took Harry’s cup for a refill. “You’ve got that right. I think we’re gonna be needing plenty more of this stuff if we have to look at Malfoy’s hair tonight.”

Ron moved back a few steps to the drinks table to fetch them some well-earned alcohol. The punch ladle bit him again, but Ron was well versed in the arena now and he won the battle quickly.

“Did Hermione ever teach you that extension charm?” asked Harry over his shoulder, eyes still trained on Malfoy like an eagle owl.

“No, why?”

“Damn,” Harry mumbled. “I was hoping we could use it on the cups, pour the whole punch bowl in.”

“Oh, that’s a brilliant idea,” Ron said in awe. “We should learn it for next time.”

“Next time?” Harry finally tore his gaze from Malfoy and whipped his whole body around to stare at Ron. The abrupt movement was a mistake; every time he blinked saw a big bright blob where Malfoy’s hair used to be. “You think he’s gonna show up again?”

Ron’s eyes widened. “I just meant in general. Ministry functions are boring, remember?”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Right.”

Of course Ministry functions were boring, they’d always been boring. Malfoy was the most interesting thing to happen to a Ministry function in years, and Malfoy was just annoying.

“You all right?” Ron gave him a wary look as he handed over a fresh cup of punch. “You’ve got that wild look in your eye.”

“What wild look?”

“The one where you’re about to get obsessed with something,” said Ron as he waved his hand by Harry’s face and almost spilled a few drops of very precious punch.

“I don’t get obsessed with things,” Harry insisted.

“Of course not.” Ron tilted his head for Harry to follow him and they moved away to the back of the room, where the food table waited for them.

Lucky for everyone present, there was another large bowl of punch on the food table. Harry hoped this ladle was more agreeable.

While Ron grabbed a plate and went in on the pasties, Harry glanced back. Malfoy was engulfed by the crowd, but every now and then someone would move and Harry could see a glint of white blond hair. He and Ron were far away now, and they had punch, maybe they could hide up the back all night until it was politely late enough to leave.

He let out a long sigh and dragged his eyes away to find Ron looking at him, eyebrow raised.

“I’m not obsessed,” said Harry.

“We’ve done this dance before,” Ron pointed out. “Sixth year.”

“That was different.” Harry stuck his nose in the air. “Malfoy was up to something, sixth year. I was right.”

Ron threw a small chocolate in the air and caught it with his mouth. “And what’s he up to now?”

“He’s . . .” Harry turned around to search for blonde hair again, but it was a mistake. The crowd had parted slightly and Malfoy was laughing again, the banner light shining off his head.

Harry clenched his jaw and turned back around. “He’s schmoozing important members of the Ministry to gain their favour. Which probably means he’s doing something evil on the side, and wants important connections in case he gets caught.”

Ron gave him a look. “Sorry, was it someone else who spoke at his trial and got him released?”

Harry felt a groan try to escape and bit his tongue.

“I’ve been wrong, once or twice,” said Harry. “And apparently this was one of them. He’s clearly up to something. His hair is too shiny.”

Ron held out his arms and looked around dramatically. “Can someone help me, please? My friend’s got that wild look in his eye.”

Just like magic, Hermione appeared, and Ron muttered something that sounded like, “I’m _saved_.”

“What’s he done now?” Hermione asked, leaning in for a chocolate.

Ron nodded his head at the other side of the room, “Malfoy’s here, and Harry’s convinced he’s schmoozing members of the Wizengamot to get away with murder.”

Harry choked on his saliva. “I didn’t say that!”

“Close enough,” Ron shrugged.

Hermione chuckled and gave Ron a loving nudge as she ate her chocolate.

“That’s Bryce Bracknell,” she nodded her head towards Malfoy. “He’s in charge of donations for tonight, Malfoy must be contributing.”

Harry stared at her. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“What?” she said innocently.

“Why would Malfoy show up out of nowhere after five years and donate his money to orphans?” said Harry.

Ron groaned and took a swig of his punch.

Hermione just rolled her eyes. “He hasn’t been nowhere, he’s been studying in France.”

“What?” Harry whipped his head around to look for Malfoy again. “Why?” He looked back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ron let out another groan and buried himself in his punch again.

Hermione pursed her lips. “If I told you everything that I know and you don’t, we’d be here for an awfully long time. Also, I didn’t think you cared what Malfoy was doing.”

“I don’t care what Malfoy’s doing,” Harry lied.

“Of course not.” She patted him on the arm.

Harry took a gulp of punch and then drummed his fingers on the glass.

He sighed. “What _has_ Malfoy been doing?”

Hermione eyed his glass-tapping fingers and moved to serve herself some punch.

“If you must know— _ow!_ ” The punch ladle bit her wrist. She swatted at it and it gave up. “If you must know, he’s just taken up a job with the Ministry. He’s been studying law—”

“Ugh!” Harry moaned. “Of _course_ he’s a sodding lawyer. He probably gets off on it, too.”

Ron snickered. “What, and we don’t get off on catching bad guys?”

Harry tried to throw him a glare, but it didn’t stick. “Fair point,” he conceded.

Ron smiled and pointed at him, and then handed Hermione a cup of punch.

Hermione took one sip from her cup and shook her head before putting it back down. “That’s a bad idea.”

Ron wrapped an arm around her and kissed her on the head. Harry just looked at her abandoned cup and sighed, wondering how long it would be before he could leave.

“How long before I can leave?”

Hermione made a tutting sound. “You’re Deputy Head Auror, you can’t leave yet.”

“What does being an Auror have to do with orphans?” Harry grumbled.

“Mate,” said Ron. “You are an orphan.”

“So I’m the Ministry’s poster child, _again_?”

“Okay,” Hermione said wearily. “Ron, I want you to come meet someone. We’ll leave Harry alone to his strop.”

“Don’t leave me alone!” Harry panicked.

“Harry, you’re a grown man,” said Hermione. “I’m sure you can handle yourself for five minutes.”

Harry sorely doubted that. He shook his head. “I’m not in a strop, I swear. I’ll be good.”

But Hermione was already pulling Ron away. He threw Harry an apologetic glance over his shoulder and then they disappeared into the crowd. Harry looked over their heads for a glimpse of blonde hair but Malfoy was gone.

Harry took a sip of his punch and swished it around his mouth angrily. He realised he hadn’t really been tasting it before—it was sweet and tingly and smelled like strawberries. It was also extremely alcoholic. Harry drained his glass.

He turned back to the table to serve himself another. The table was covered with mountains of food, pastries and delicacies both sweet and savoury. It looked delicious. Harry knew he should probably eat something before having more punch, but his stomach was too busy eating itself to care. He gave the ladle a slap and it conceded defeat after one bite. He fished around in the bowl for one of the strawberries he saw floating there—apparently Ron had been neglecting those—and he had just about cornered one of them when a sharp voice sent a chill down his spine.

“Potter, fancy meeting you here.”

Harry turned as slow as possible and scowled. “Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s hair was just as blindingly bright up close, and the effect of his pale skin was almost as bad. He looked too severe in dark blue. His face was adorned with a customary smirk, but instead of looking malicious like it usually did, he just seemed amused at something. Harry had no idea what was funny.

“Would you mind moving?” said Malfoy, gesturing at the table.

Harry moved aside and idly wondered if he should run away, it seemed like the best time to do so. Talking to Malfoy was only going to end badly.

Unfortunately, Harry seemed to be rooted on the spot. He blamed his bubbling anger.

Malfoy leant down toward the table, inspecting the piles of food with a thoughtful expression. He reached out his pale fingers and plucked one of the chocolates. When he straightened his posture and ate it, he made a small sound of approval.

Harry just stared.

“Is there a problem, Potter?” Malfoy’s mouth moved.

Harry blinked, realising he was being spoken to. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth twitched.

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t be here?” he asked, as if he had never done a bad deed in his life.

Harry could think of a few.

He inhaled deeply and tried to focus on everything he had learnt at this year’s _Patience and Placidity in the Workforce_ seminar. The witch running it had definitely said something about breathing. And then possibly something about picturing a calm, blue sky?

When Harry looked into Malfoy’s eyes all he saw were the clouds before a storm.

He attempted nonchalance, “I just never pictured orphans being your style.”

The corner of Malfoy’s mouth twitched again. He picked out another chocolate and popped it into his mouth, chewing before he said, “I’ve fancied an orphan or two in my time.”

“What does that mean?” Harry frowned.

“Is this punch any good?” Malfoy asked.

“What?”

“The punch. Is it good?”

Harry sharpened his glare at Malfoy and tried not to focus too hard on the word _punch._

The punch was fine, it was very pleasant and if Malfoy won the affections of the ladle he could probably fish out a strawberry to go with it. But would it be as good as the punch Harry’s hand could deliver Malfoy? Probably not.

He tried to imagine clear blue skies again, but there were clouds in the way.

“The punch is fine,” Harry snarled.

“Hmm,” Malfoy smiled and turned to inspect the punch bowl. “Thank you, Potter.”

Harry clenched his hands into fists while Malfoy wasn’t looking and mouthed, _“Thank you, Potter?”_

Malfoy had lost the plot, that was the only explanation. Malfoy was completely off his rocker, and in lieu of remembering his personality he had resorted to thanking Harry and giving money to orphans. It was completely unacceptable and it had to be stopped.

Harry watched as Malfoy tickled the handle of the punch ladle and it trembled before going still.

“Unfuckingbelievable,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“Hmm?” Malfoy turned to him with a polite expression and ladled a strawberry into Harry’s glass.

“What’s that?” Harry asked intelligently.

“A strawberry? I believe I saw you chasing one down before I interrupted you?”

Harry growled at him. He genuinely, audibly, _growled_.

“Did you just growl?” Malfoy’s mouth twitched again.

“No.”

Malfoy’s whole face seemed to twitch now, like he was restraining himself. He gave Harry a curt nod and said, “My apologies, Potter.”

_My apologies, Potter._

Mental, Malfoy had gone positively mental. Malfoy had started bleaching his hair impossibly white with dark magic and it had seeped into his brain, it was the only explanation.

Harry didn’t know how to proceed. He was mostly still having thoughts about punching Malfoy and making a pun about how good the punch was, but he was at a Ministry gathering. Hermione and Kingsley would flatten him if he made an example of himself. Or Malfoy. Who deserved to be made an example of.

He tried to picture calm blue skies again, but the storm clouds prevailed. He let his eyes wander and tried to focus on something else—Malfoy’s hand. His fingers were long and slender and almost as white as his hair, they were no good. He switched he gaze to Malfoy’s ridiculous hair instead. It seemed to sit even more perfectly up close, and there didn’t look to be any product in it. Did it really just stay that way by some force of nature? No one’s genetic pool was that good. There had to be something suspicious going on with his hair. That was why Malfoy had gone mental, after all.

Harry’s grip tightened around the glass in his hand, but his hand was sweaty and it almost slipped out. He caught it at the last moment and made an embarrassing grunting sound.

When Harry looked back up at Malfoy he seemed incredibly amused.

“Well, Potter,” he said cheerily. “I’m sure I’ve taken up enough of your time for the evening.”

Malfoy gave him another polite nod and then spun gracefully and disappeared into the crowd.

Harry let out a long, laboured breath and hissed, “Fucking polite wanker,” as he took a large gulp of punch and let the strawberry wash into his mouth.

When he bit down, the strawberry was sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this it something I wrote quite some time ago, and I found it today and it really made me laugh so I thought I'd post it?
> 
> It's intended to have a few more chapters, and actually get to the good stuff, but I'm bogged down with school at the moment and I kinda felt like this almost worked on it's own, so I just wanted to finally get something...out there...in the fic world. In the void.
> 
> Later though I will add more! For now it's like a funny lil oneshot that's...vaguely Drarry. (Sorry if you came for smooching)
> 
> Cheers ily please leave a comment and help me get better n___n


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